


Get Up Johnny Boy, You're My Pride And Joy (REWRITTEN)

by antiihero



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: GASP, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insomniac John, M/M, Past Assassin John, Past Child Abuse, Possessive Moriarty, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Worried Moriarty, Writer John, jim gets to john first, yes jim has feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:32:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9663683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antiihero/pseuds/antiihero
Summary: this work has been rewritten!!!! check it out here my dudes: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15728904/chapters/36567459 !!!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I recently got really into Johniarty. This fic is basically about Jim meeting John before Sherlock and multiple problems John is facing. Also, John being a past assassin and all.  
> Story title from Twenty One Pilot's 'Johnny Boy'.  
> Sherlock does not belong to me. It belongs to the late Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, modernly adapted by BBC's Sherlock created by Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.  
> This is simply a work of fiction and written for enjoyment. That said, I hope you enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how often I will be updating this, just warning you. I update when I feel like it, and if I hit a rock I won't pressure myself to update. I feel that messes with my writing. Anyways, that said, enjoy the first chapter!

    John sighed and sat down at the small wooden table in the corner, the least likely for other people to sit at if other people came in. He pulled out his computer, having already ordered. He knew how weird it must've been for a man with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder, dark bags under his eyes, to be in a coffee shop at 3 in the morning, but he was an insomniac, he didn't get much of a choice for when he slept. But he guessed if anyone was at a coffee shop that early it would be weird. He also knew it was going to take a while, as the boy was new and sleep-deprived. As well as they recently got a new machine he didn't know how to work. John sighed and shook his head. No, he forbade himself from doing that. He was quite smart, graduated with a 5.0 GPA, but his father didn't like that. Told him only to use his intellect on the battlefield, to find out about his targets, to kill them because it was the only thing he could do right. John sighed and tried to put the thoughts under lock and key like he usually did.

    John opened his sleek, black computer and quickly typed in his password, wanting to start writing. He had started a series of books, only just started the second one, though. It was based on his life, really, it was altered, though. It was a government facility who raised people with too 'little energy', which caused them to be able to basically be a shadow. Not seen, not heard, not unless someone actually focused on them. They also raised people with 'too much energy', who were born basically dead inside, but able to make people do what they wanted. They stood out in a crowd, they loved the attention. Obviously, it was more fantasy than real life, and John was raised by his dad, not the government. Might as well had been, though. He was almost done with the current book, planning to make one more. He felt quite accomplished, and didn't pay attention when his coffee was placed beside him, focused on making the last pages intense and made sure to suck the readers in. After all, that's what most authors strived to do, make the reader get sucked into the world they wrote about, making them forget exactly where they were and have them focus solely on the book.

    John did notice, however, when a man walked in. He had pale skin and was a bit taller than John himself. He had black, styled hair and dark eyes. Brown? Well, they looked black and apathetic from John's angle. John was surprised at what the man was wearing most of all, he had on an expensive grey suit and dress shoes. John himself was dressed in an oversized oatmeal jumper, and jeans, and wondered what anyone of the man's stature would be doing in a dingy cafe. The man turned toward him and smiled predatorily, then turned back to the cashier, who was currently asleep, with malice shining in his eyes.  _Oh,_ John's brain supplied him with the answer of what was going to happen, knowing the look, as he had worn it before. He shot up, the movement apparently surprising the man. It seemed like he expected John to run, and lifted his brows when John stood his ground.

    "Is that a British Army L9A1 in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?" The man asked, and his voice sounded  _wrong._  It had an Irish lilt to it, but it couldn't seem to stay still. Some places it was accentuated, and others, it sounded dead.It also wasn't like the angry, burning voices he heard whilst he was getting trained, or the angry, pitiful voices begging him to just kill them. No, he sounded like an excited child, sitting on the edge of his seat. He was waiting for something to happen, John realised, he was waiting for John to make his move. John brushed off the fact that he knew what type of gun it was, knowing the moments he would lose to shock would be important ones. He quickly grabbed his gun and levelled it with the man, showing no signs of hesitation. "Well, well, well, looks like we got a feisty one, hmm? You look well trained, but you weren't in the army. Freelancer?" John bristled but didn't move his finger from the trigger, trying not to focus on the fact that the man wasn't as stupid as a lot of others seemed to be. So, he wasn't just some druggie looking for cash.

    The man just smiled again and took a step towards him. "Stop or I will shoot you," John dismissed the fact that his voice was hoarse with disuse and only focused on the man. "Well, this meeting sure is going quite well, wouldn't you agree, darling?" John grimaced at the nickname, cocking his gun, his finger steady at the trigger. "I don't suppose you have any evidence of me wanting to cause any harm to anyone in this vicinity, do you?" John cursed silently, knowing he would most definitely go to prison if he pulled the trigger, and that risked the chance of _them_ finding him. That couldn't happen under any circumstances. But the familiar pull in his gut warning him of danger couldn't be dismissed. "Night, night, sweetheart." The man cooed out, smiling like the Cheshire cat. John furrowed his brows and promptly got hit on the head with what felt like a crowbar. He cursed himself again as he fell to the floor, dropping his gun, and blacking out.

     John woke up what he guessed was about 7 hours later, in his own bed. He quickly shot up, reaching for his gun that wasn't under his pillow or in his pocket. He winced as pain shot through his skull, but panic surged through him while he remembered what happened. What happened to that boy? Was he okay? John stood up, but his knees buckled and he fell back onto his plain bed. How did they even know where he lived? John studied his flat for a minute before he saw his bag and laptop sat on his desk, an envelope set precisely on the top of the pile.

    John stood up again and thanked god that he could actually stand up. The man who hit him must've known what would cause the least damage, and John thanked whatever God existed for that. He collapsed into his hard desk chair, picking up the envelope. John's name was written neatly on the front, probably creeping out John more than it should've. How did they figure out his name?  _Probably the same way they found out where you live, idiot,_ his mind helpfully provided him with. The envelope was stamped shut with a wax seal, engraved with the letter  _M._ John sighed as his curiosity got ahold of him and he carefully opened it, pulling out... parchment paper?

    Well, this  _M_ was certainly someone, John concluded, opening the letter.

     _Dear John Watson,_

_You seem to have appeared to obstruct my plan. Whilst Sebby was dealing with you, Mike got away. Do you know how long it took to find him?! An escaped convict served your coffee, just so you know. You should learn to be more careful, being an ex...government man, I suppose would be the term. He attempted to steal from me. Can you believe the audacity?!_

_But, you are very pretty. That's been obvious since I first saw you with your ash-blond hair and cerulean eyes. I seem to be interested in you, can you tell me why? I never believed myself to be able to identify with an_ ordinary  _person. But you're not ordinary, are you? No, you're not one of those blubbering idiots who just sees people and streets and houses, are you? You know how to observe those things. Not as well as some, but you're getting there. I can't believe you graduated with a 5.0 GPA and decided to go to the government. What a waste of talent, you could have done better things than whatever it is you did. I'm still having people figure that out. You are a rather big paradox, Johnny._

_Meet me at the Gorgone Cafe on 8th Street on the 7th. Which, conveniently, is today. How about at 2 pm, as I know you'll be waking up later rather than sooner. See you there._

_Sincerely,_

_Jim Moriarty xoxo_

John sucked in a breath, wondering if he should go. The man was close to figuring out who he was. He could easily go to  _them_ with that information. John knew he deleted all of who he was and what he did, from everything that held that information. But some people still knew his old name, some people could still rat him out. Maybe he could make a deal with whoever this Jim was. He could probably beat him in a fight, but he frowned at his underweight body. He lost about 20 something pounds since graduating from being an assassin to a normal human being. He couldn't remember to eat. It seemed so mundane, so routine, he just forgot.

    John hauled himself up and looked at the time. Noon, he had 2 hours left. John stretched and groaned as his stiff muscles protested the movement. John grabbed his blue and white striped jumper, that was also too baggy for him. He grabbed a different pair of pants and jeans, heading towards the small bathroom attached to his bedroom. John pulled off his clothes once in the bathroom and started the shower, making it a point to not look at his reflection. He knew he would see a small and underweight man, and he really didn't want the self-deprecating thoughts to come sooner than they had too.

    John quickly washed his hair and body, sighed at the scars and cuts littering it. He'd been sighing too much, he should really be happier. But how could he? He was an ex-assassin who wrote depressing novels and had his past haunting him at every turn. John turned off the water and dried himself off in the shower as to not get water all over the floor. He quickly changed into his new clothes, desperate to hide his body. He picked up his pile of clothes and put them in the hamper, checking the time. 1. Well, he only has one hour to pass before he met the man, named Jim apparently, at the Cafe.

    John sighed and decided to walk there, it would take around 30 minutes. Even though it was the middle of winter, John couldn't bring himself to care. He really couldn't bring himself to care about much anymore, could he? Besides, why waste money on going to meet some mysterious man who knew his name and where he lived before ever even meeting him before? He grabbed his book bag and shoved his computer in, slinging it over his shoulder. John pulled on his coat and walked out, shutting the door behind him. Well, he guessed it was time to go meet whatever mass murderer he had stumbled upon and caught the attention of. But John also concluded he wasn't right to judge as he was also a killer.

    John sighed as he stopped outside of the cafe, and felt more disturbed as he realised it was empty. Did the man, Jim, have it all planned out? No servers were in, but the door was unlocked. John pushed open the door and walked to the back, more out of habit than anything. Least likely to be noticed or pointed out, he figured out soon after he escaped. He opened the bag and took out his laptop, opening it and finding his writing open, a note stuck to the screen.

     _I like it, you have quite the imagination, Johnny. Do you need a new publisher, by chance? Your current one is completely idiotic._

_Jim xoxo_

   John scoffed and tore it off, crumpled it and shoved it in his pocket. He went over his last few pages of writing, getting the feel for it again. He began writing, enjoying immersing himself in the writing and the suspense, wanting to forget about the strange man and wondering why he even came. "Seems like authors really do get engrossed in their writing." John's head snapped up in surprise to see Jim and quickly looked back to his computer, finishing the last sentence. He closed the laptop and gestured for the black-haired man to sit down.

    He did so with a big grin on his face, looking at John as if he were a piece of meat. John cleared his throat and looked out the window, pulling his sleeves down as a result of a nervous habit. Jim's eyes seemed to had caught onto this and saw that the jumper he wrapped around him was baggy and oversized. "How much do you eat?" John kept his gaze focused on the outside world, shrugging and knowing it wasn't a straight answer. He could feel the man's eyes on him, making him feel more exposed than he should've. "How much do you eat?" The black-haired man asked again, this time with threats carefully laced in with the question. John pursed his lips, "I'm sorry, but I don't see how that's your business."

    "What have you eaten today?"  _Nothing._ "That's not important," John replied, "Who are you, what do you do?" Jim pursed his lips, as if he was imitating John, "Jim Moriarty, and consulting criminal. Your turn," John raised his eyebrow. "John Watson, and... an author." Jim gave him a pointed look, "Wrong question, and partly wrong answer," John shrugged again, "What do you mean, consulting criminal?"

    "You first," John sighed and looked back out the window, contemplating telling the truth rather than lying. "And the truth would be nice, thank you." John didn't question how he seemed to know what John was thinking and decided, to tell the truth. "Nothing, the headache I received helped little with my appetite." Well, part of it anyways.

    Jim gave him a disbelieving look but shrugged, "Fair enough. Consulting criminal means I basically run the underworld, and, if people have... problems, they come to me to solve them." John furrowed his brows, "So, 'please, Jim, won't you fix it for me to get rid of my cheating spouse.'?" Jim smiled, "Just so." The smile was nothing like his smile from the other night. That night it was a cheshire-like one, hiding all the malevolence and fury behind a wide grin. This one looked genuine, sort of, and like a practised thing. John realised that the smile wasn't fake, though, as it seemed it should be after the last night. It seemed like this Jim seemed genuinely pleased with John.

    The door opened the next second, the bells making a noisy ringing sound that made John wonder how he didn't hear Jim come in. "Ah, Sebby! So glad that you  _finally_ decided to come with the food." There was a hidden violence in his voice, one laced together with Jim's niceties and thinly-veiled threats. John stared at the man who supposedly knocked him out and his eyes widened, recognising him. He was one of his first targets, brothers. But the target wasn't very nice, drinking, getting laid, ditching the girl, and even got downright abusive with one of them. John took him out because he was endangering exposing the society. Apparently, the blond man recognised him also. He put down both of the plates and looked at John in wonder. John cleared his throat and glanced away, but looked right back at the man. 

    He was nicely built and had blonde hair in a buzz cut. His bright blue eyes weren't analytical, but they didn't seem to miss anything either. "I'm guessing you two know each other? Sebby, why are you looking at Johnny in wonder?" John was driven away from the male's gaze by Jim's voice.  _He's going to tell him anyways, you might as well do it._ "He, uh, was the brother of my first... hit." John stuttered out, as he'd never admitted to anyone that he was an assassin before. Surprisingly, it didn't seem like a very good ice breaker. Both the men spoke at once after that. 'Sebby' or Sebastian, as John remembered from the file, asked, "You're  _first_?" And Jim followed up with, "You were a hitman?" John sighed, not liking to relive the days of his father's voice telling him the only way he could make a difference was to kill and that he was worthless. "I- yes, Keith was my first. And no, I was an assassin. Much more credibility as I wasn't in a mob or the mafia."

    Sebastian was still looked at him in wonderment and Jim was grinning. "Oh, you are just getting more interesting. Sebby, leave now, we'll talk later." The man nodded and hurried out, throwing one last glance at John on his way out. Jim smiled wolfishly at John, "Time for a story?" He asked playfully, his voice adopting a character of its own. John noted that his voice changed, there was one when he was playful, one when he was intrigued, one when he was dancing around threats, and probably a ton of others. John shook his head in response. "No, definitely not." Jim sighed exaggeratedly, "Fine..." Though he dragged out the 'e', giving it a little musical lilt. 

    John glanced down at the food, seeing he had a caesar salad without tomatoes, and that Jim had spaghetti. John ignored his plate, his appetite not growing as he was so used to not eating. He simply stared out the window, looking at all the people walking by, lives and people to get home to. He also saw tourists taking photos and chatting excitedly. He began to think, "It takes a great deal of courage to see the world in all its tainted glory, and still to love it." Jim looked at John and saw how he was focusing on the people bustling around. "Oscar Wilde." He commented, taking a bite of his pasta. "Mhm... Those people, tourists and Londoners alike, don't see the world for what it is. They don't see the leaks and fault lines. They don't even try to. They see what they want, they see perfect people, perfect lives. If they saw the dark stains, they would be horrified. Their carefully mastered illusion would shatter, and they would be swallowed by the dark stains. They'd make the stains darker with the hatred of something  _different._ They would ruin the only perfect things in this world," John droned on, lost in thought. It was why he used to kill, wasn't it? To not make those stains darker. He killed because  _it was the only way he could make a difference in this world._ He could help keep the illusion there, and he could be not seen. If he wasn't seen, those dark stains stayed the same.

    "Earth to Johnny!" Jim cooed, snapping John out of his thoughts. "O-Oh, did I say all of that out loud?" Jim was smiling, why was he smiling? He was sat across from someone who sounded like they were completely mad and he was smiling. Sebastian came back in and stood next to John's chair, holding a syringe. John's reflexes quickly kicked in as he grabbed his messenger bag and threw it at the man's head, momentarily distracting him. John used those precious seconds to duck under the table and run out, quickly exiting the cafe and blending into the large crowd of people gathered around some kind of display. He let himself relax after an hour of hanging around different crowds.

    John quickly slipped back to his house, trying to be the least remarkable thing people had seen that day. John knew that realistically, he couldn't outrun Moriarty, but he sure as hell could avoid getting drugged. He walked to his small living room and collapsed, not surprised when he saw his messenger bag with his laptop in it and another letter.

     _Dear Johnny Boy,_

_Good thinking, though the drugs aren't all that bad. I took the liberties to return your writing to you. Also, Sebby told me about your past life. You have nothing to worry about on behalf of getting tracked down by Mycroft Holmes. He was the main showrunner, correct? I won't kill him, as much as I'd like to. I have a game planned, but I'm not writing this to tell you about that. Just to tell you, you have nothing to worry about. Also, you should go to a funeral at 11:00 am at Blakerson's Cemetery next Monday. It seems like your publisher died in a mugging. Need a new one?_

_Sincerely,_

_Jim Moriarty xoxo_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim smiled and gestured for a glass of whiskey. "Nice work. I do admit, they were new, so the mistakes weren't on purpose." He replied and took a small drink of his whiskey, putting down the glass. "Interested?" John sighed. Would he get drawn into Jim's game? He had to have one, talking to John like that. He knew about Code 0, about his family and about the government. Why stay with him? Why keep talking to him? Why offer him a publisher when he could hire him to kill someone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I don't really know what to put here. I hope you enjoy! Sorry for taking so long!! 
> 
> It's been freaking 5 months what the hell have i been doing with my life-  
> Holmes Jr = Sherlock  
> Holmes Sr = Mycroft

    John sighed and ran a hand over his face, leaning against the bar, hoping people would stop trying to talk to him. He was tired and worn down, couldn't anybody see that? "Johnny Boy," A voice called out and John turned around, sighing as he saw the self-proclaimed criminal mastermind in front of him. John scowled as he looked down at his suit, regretting wearing it. It was one Moriarty left for him. He left three in total. One fully black one, the one John was wearing, one with blue pinstripes, and one fully white one. Which John found funny, did he not know people usually wore white as a sign of life and happiness?

    "I see you got my gift," Jim commented, smirking at the black material that hung to John's frame in all the right places. John rolled his eyes at the man, not wanting to get sucked into the dark abysses of Jim's eyes. "You need a new one?" The dark haired man asked, gesturing at the coffin sitting in the middle of the long grass with flowers surrounding it. John sighed once again, "Maybe, why?" He replied icily, watching loved ones of his publisher's downing liquor and other strong substances. The corner of John's lips turned up in contempt, knowing liquor wouldn't drown out their shame of not spending enough time with the man or being there for him.

     "I happen to have a rather good one. Would you be interested?" John refocused on Jim, frowning in thought. "I would rather not take a publisher from someone who ordered the death of my past publisher," John commented, looking at the wall. Damn, he shouldn't have said that. God, this father would kill him if he explained how he got to that conclusion. He looked back into the dark holes of Jim's eyes, the blackness shining with stars. Stars of curiosity.  Damn.  _No, your father doesn't control you, he isn't alive anymore._

    "He was wearing ratty clothing, before they changed him, obviously going home from a bar. Though, while that seems like the perfect target, he wasn't that drunk, based off of the lack of bruises he would have gotten from stumbling around. Most likely scoring drugs judging from the bags under his eyes and the barely concealed needle marks on his arms. He probably only brought the bare minimum money, knowing he might be mugged. He was averagely intelligent. Even so, there was still $200 left in the wallet. That says he didn't get what he was looking for. But usually, dealers wait a bit as to not raise suspicion. So, therefore, the money was a rookie mistake. No sign of struggle, as there would be if it was a mugging. A clean knife wound, no mugging would be done so efficiently."

    Jim smiled and gestured for a glass of whiskey. "Nice work. I do admit, they were new, so the mistakes weren't on purpose." He replied and took a small drink of his whiskey, putting down the glass. "Interested?" John sighed. Would he get drawn into Jim's game? He had to have one, talking to John like that. He knew about Code 0, about his family and about the government. Why stay with him? Why keep talking to him? Why offer him a publisher when he could hire him to kill someone?

    "I can just hear you trying piece it together up there. You think I should just have you as a hit man, not be encouraging your writing project, correct?" John sighed and nodded confirmation, not feeling like being stubborn. "What's his name and number?" John asked, trying to avoid the topic of him being an assassin. Jim smirked and held out his hand. John rolled his eyes, which seemed like a rather familiar movement when it came to being around Moriarty. He dug into his pocket and got out his phone. It wasn't anything too fancy, just a little black phone designed for texting, calling, and taking pictures. Jim quickly typed in a contact, then handed the phone back to John, making sure to turn the screen off. Though, it probably didn't add the suspense Jim probably hoped it would. John rolled his eyes, yet again, and turned the screen back on. He opened his contact list and took a surprised breath. "Y-you can't be serious...." John trailed off and looked at Jim again. Jim smirked and picked up his glass, taking a small sip. "Why wouldn't I be serious?" John sighed as he struggled for words, "You just gave me what I'm assuming is Dominic Richard's number!" John replied, looking around to check that no one was looking at them. "He owed me a favour, and you needed a new publisher." John wanted to slap the smirk off of Jim's face, but knowing that would draw quite a lot of attention to him, and maybe also put him on Jim's bad side. "He isn't just a publisher, he's been given who knows how many awards for his novels and he helped out James Richardson, Kaylee Nelson, all the biggest authors! My name doesn't deserve to be up and associated with those people! Who even cares about John Watson?! I know I don't!" John stumbled over his words, trying to explain how wrong the whole thing was. Suddenly, Jim was crowding him against the bar, arms trapping him. There was an angry look in his deep brown eyes. At first, John's mind went wild with sex fantasies, but he immediately cut those thoughts out.

    "Don't say that. You are extremely talented and you deserve to be so much more famous than all those irrelevant,  _ordinary_ people. Don't you get that?!" Jim quietly seethed and John looked everywhere but at Jim's face. "You're attracting attention..." John replied, trying not to think about the compliments he just received. Jim sighed and pulled back, wiping invisible dust from his suit. "Do you want a ride home? I believe you took a cab here, and that you don't have any interest in staying here." John nodded and composed himself. He followed Jim outside and felt relieved as he saw the black Porsche instead of a limo that would attract attention. He'd never been one to bathe in the spot light, one of the reasons of his pseudonym. He was also extra cautious of _them_ finding him. He opened the passenger door and climbed in, he started unbuttoning his blazer and vest. He didn't feel comfortable in fancy clothes. He spent his whole life in sweatpants and t-shirts for training and jeans and jumpers for normal. The suit felt nice, he would give it that. But John would much rather his usual attire.

    "Here we are, Mr Watson," Jim said teasingly, smiling playfully at John. The blonde couldn't tell if Moriarty was Bipolar, or just plain crazy. He'd had John's old publisher killed just so he could give him the number of a new one. A rather famous new one, but still a new one. He hadn't even made it so John just couldn't have that publisher anymore, but the guy was still alive. He had to just go the extra mile and kill the guy, didn't he? "Thank you, Sir Moriarty," He replied, going along with the joke, and moving to grab the door handle to open the door. "I think I rather like it when you call me Sir," Jim's smile changed into something a little more sexual. John blushed lightly at the sexual joke, quickly opening the door and getting out of the car that now seemed to be suddenly filled with sexual tension. He sighed in relief as he shut the door, and Jim sped away like a mad man on crack. While going to John's flat, Jim had been nice and obeyed the rules of the road, but it seemed that when John got out of the car, Jim tried to break every traffic law known to man. Definitely crazy, then. The blonde ran a hand through his hair, sighing and heading up to his flat.

    When he opened the door to the flat, he couldn't help but feel the least bit disappointed at the lack of anything really. It was plain and boring, just like the man who lived in it. Though, Jim seemed to think different. John couldn't quite figure out why. He pulled out his phone, going to his contacts to text the number Jim gave him, very curious to see if it was the actually Dominic Richard. He opened the conversation, and he was a bit surprised as he saw that Jim had already sent a message, and the man had responded.

    **_J.W.: Hello, this is M. I'm sure you remember me. You owe me one. Once the man who owns this phone texts you about getting a new publisher, ask him for the title of his first book and what he has finished of the second book he is working on. If you do not see potential in him, then do not become his publisher._**

**_Dominic Richards: Alright_ **

   John rolled his eyes at the conversation. He suspected the last part of not accepting him if he didn't like his writing was purely for John, to make sure he knew he wasn't going to be accepted just because of Jim's threats. He took in a deep breath and typed out his message.

     ** _J.W.: Hello, this is the author known as J Washington. I'm assuming you want the name to my first book. It's called 'The Nobodies: Book 1'. I've included a link to what I have done of the second book so far. I am about 2 chapters to being done with it, so I can get it back to you finished soon, if you so wish._**

John sucked in a deep breath, putting his phone down on the couch, and grabbing his computer from where it was charging on the coffee table, opening it to start working on those last 2 chapters as he waited from a text back. He expected it to be a joke, for it to be Jim or just some random stranger to text him back. He sighed and shook those thoughts out of his head, focusing on his writing.

-

    Jim looked at the small black phone that Sebastian had fetched for him. He just needed to have a quick conversation with Mycroft Holmes. He did have the game with Sherlock soon, but he needed more information on Code 0. Mycroft will know it's him almost immediately because Moriarty had done some other things besides the whole Taxi Cab thing with Holmes Jr. Stupid Victor Trevor had to get the right room as Sherlock was going to take the right pill and prove that dense cabby wrong. Stupid Victor Trevor who had shot the cabby, causing the idiotic man to sputter out his name, without killing him. Moriarty rolled his eyes and pulled up the only number on the phone, Holmes Sr's. number.

      _**M: I want information**_

_**Holmes Sr.: Who is this?** _

_**M: Can't you deduce that, Mr Holmes? Thought you were better than little Shirly** _

_**Homes Sr.: Moriarty** _

_**M: Congratulations! Do you want a gold star?** _

_**Holmes Sr.: Quit the games, Moriarty. What information do you want that you can't already obtain?** _

_**M: Code 0** _

_**Holmes Sr.: That has been a dead project for a while now. Why are you interested? It was just a low life assassin.** _

_**M: Don't say low life. Johnny Boy is way more than some 'low life Assassin'.** _

_**Holmes Sr.: Johnathan Milton?** _

_**M: I would assume so. Can't you keep up?** _

_**Holmes Sr.: Would you be so kind as to return him?** _

_**M: No** _

_**Holmes Sr.: What would you like to know?** _

_**M: Why did you back it up?** _

_**Holmes Sr.: As an official government official, I am required to back some organizations. Johnathan seemed to have potential until he didn't.** _

_**M: Are you trying to test me?** _

_**Holmes Sr.: Possibly** _

_**M: Enjoy your day, as it will be ruined very soon.** _

Moriarty rolled his eyes at the conversation and promptly launched the useless phone at the wall. It had no GPS, but he couldn't take any chances. He swirled in his chair, thinking of what to do next. He should start putting his game into motion, but for some reason, he just wanted to see John again. Around the blonde, he didn't feel bored, even though the man was usually quiet, and a standard person with a lot of baggage. Low self-esteem and all. But he could see something in Johnny's eyes, something that no other damaged person had displayed. A kind of strength, one that stayed with someone throughout all their hardships. And Johnny had a lot of those, he could also tell, if the man's dark bags under his eyes and small frame had any say. He got out his personal phone, the one that very few people had the number to, and texted Johnny.

    _ **M: I'll be there at 8, don't bother getting dressed up. I'll have something for you to wear. See you then, Johnny Boy.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, John's pseudonym is sooooo creative


	4. Chapter 4

hello!!! i know all of you guys were probably hoping for a new chapter, but reading this over again, i’ve realised how much i’ve changed and evolved as a writer, so i’m going to be attempting to rewrite this fic, and i’ll let you all know when it’s released! thank all of you guys for supporting this as i’m still getting kudos on this to this day despite how long ago i wrote this and how bad i perceive it to be. <33333 i love u all


	5. Chapter 5

guess what????? IVE REWRITTEN THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THIS THING SO FAR!! i know i sound way too excited but honestly i’ve gotten so much inspiration and i’m p u mped to keep rewriting the one chapter i have left of this then branch out and do my own thing!!! so go check it out pls!!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/15728904/chapters/36567459


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